


Words and Deeds

by HardingHightown



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Heavy Drinking, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3080348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardingHightown/pseuds/HardingHightown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can say you are a lot of things. Noble. Dedicated. Atoning.</p><p>Siba Cadash doesn't put much stock in what people say they are. It's what they do that counts. Ranier might say he's sorry, but he'll have to prove it too.</p><p>Blackwall/Cadash romance with an older Inquisitor, with Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus and Sera, Cassandra, Josephine, and Varric featuring heavily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Siba ran from the jail in Val Royeux. Ran from his face. Ran from his guilt and his anger and his pain. She told Cullen to get him out, any means necessary, and left before he could ask her anything that would crack the careful mask of the Inquisitor. She ran through the streets, not caring about the reputation of the Inquisition. Just this once, she would allow herself that luxury.As she burst into her lodgings, he thought she was going to cry. Instead, she found herself laughing. Slowly at first, then more and more. Relief washed over her. It was, at last, solved.

She had known for weeks that something wasn't right. From as early as their first night together, in fact. When he'd first come to her, she had thought his reticence to be fear of commitment outside of the Wardens. He’d told her she was too good for him, after all. When he'd kissed her, her fears melted away, but when he stripped away her clothes and took her to the bed, he was distant, never quite in the moment. It was over quickly, as she expected from a man who'd spent so many years in solitude... but after he was silent, holding on to her with a firm grasp, but no tenderness. She tried not to, but she quickly thought to blame herself. She was a Carta runner. A thug. A common criminal against his strong, solid, noble body. He must have been ashamed to love her. To want a woman so far beneath his noble goal. It had made her angry, feeling like that. She'd never tried to hide who she was. Never tried to deny her past. Being Carta wasn't everybody's dream, she knew that. But it was her life, who she was... her family were the Carta. Her friends back in the city. And damn it, she was good at her job. A life of organised crime for a surface dwarf was a heck of a lot more noble that some of the other options. Her Carta career had made her, had forged her thirty-nine years in the Marches, and feeling like it wasn't good enough was new and very, very uncomfortable.

She'd spent more time in the tavern after that. More time with the Chargers. More time with real people, with real and messy pasts. They reminded her of the Cadash boys she'd left back in Ostwick, that similar camaraderie, the feeling of being part of something bigger, finding a place you didn't think you'd ever find... Krem even had the same shiny dark eyes as her brother Veran. One night she'd even considered asking that handsome stone-born Rocky back to her quarters, but just before she could ask Blackwall had joined them in the tavern. There, with the Chargers around them, he was positively gregarious. His laughter filled the room, he told jokes, engaged with stories, sang along with the bawdy tavern songs and drank... oh how he drank. They were both deep in their cups when he kissed her again, messily, with a hunger she'd been yearning for... but then again, he had pulled away. He staggered alone back to the stables. She'd thought to follow him, but her pride got the better of her and she stormed back to the keep. He would not have her beg. She knew that well enough.

She'd not spoken of them much after that. She only ventured out of the keep with him if Bull was at her side. She always felt safe with Bull- she liked to think that it was not solely because of his size, but the shadow he cast over her didn't hurt. On missions, they all laughed together, fought strongly at with each other, but there were still moments of silence where her eyes met Blackwall's deep blue. When he looked at her like that she felt strange. Like that feeling she's had whilst being in the fade. There, but not there. She wasn't sure if she liked that.

He'd looked at her that way on that night, the night he'd disappeared. She'd finally swallowed her pride and gone to see him, and he'd asked her to go drink with him. With the chargers out of the tavern on training, the place was almost silent. Cabot, who made his disapproval of her interest in Blackwall plain to see, gave them the scrag ends of the barrel. She had waited for Blackwall to say something, to pull Cabot up on his cheap shot, but instead he drank in silence, his stare a thousand leagues long. The silence they sat in seemed to last an eternity.

When they left she followed him back to the stables, and he’d kissed again with that same hunger she’d been yearning for. She needed that, and she hated it. When he pulled away to tell her again how unworthy he was, she had almost thought to leave him be, but she felt that feeling again. That feeling of being almost out of control, out of reality, in a place unlike the world she knew. She’d give him that night, she’d decided. That night to prove himself.

And then he was gone.

He’d left her a note, of all things. A note on that sodding wooden bird-beast he’d spent his time whittling. Her face burned as she took it to Leliana to confirm what she already knew. She didn’t need to be able to read letters to know he’d walked out. She didn’t need Leliana’s hesitant reading of his fine words to know that he’d left her shivering and naked with the beasts rather than hold to his promise. She swore she’d find him, track down this noble man and throw his precious badge in his face.

Noble words meant nothing without noble deeds, after all.

 

 


	2. Hand and Heart

She breathed as deeply as she could manage, letting the breath settle in the pit of her stomach, temporarily taking away the unusual fluttering sensation that kept rearing up. She was good at that. Breathing down to the stone, her mother had called it. Kept you grounded. The Ancestors would catch each breath and pull you to the earth, so nobody could knock you back.

It had been around an hour, she guessed, since the hearing. Since they dragged Blackwall-  _No, Thom_ \- Since they dragged Thom Rainier in irons in front of her. She'd kept her composure as best she could at first, telling him he'd have no say in her sentencing, letting him know that her choice to let him be free and atone was on behalf of the Inquisition, not her... but then he'd taken a step towards her, the sod, and she'd felt that flutter. He pushed her into confessing that she needed him by her side. He'd been so bold as to  _kiss_  her. Their first kiss in front of others, and it happened to be in front of the entire Inquisition. A clever move, or an infinitely foolish one. She couldn't rightly tell in that moment. For all his talk of being honorable, she was certain that act had scandalised their guests from the Orlesian Court. She was certain that hard earned alliances would have been tested. She was certain there would be consequences. For a second she had forgotten herself, let him get the better of her, something which Gatsi had pulled up as she stepped from the throne. "They look down on us. That's the order of things. Just don't give them reason to disrespect you as well. You're of the stone. Don't forget that."

She breathed as deeply as she could manage. Before the prisoner was lead away, he had glanced up to her quarters. He'd be here. He would.

 

-

 

Darkness had started to set in by the time she heard heavy boots on the stairs. The steps were uneven, hesitant. When he finally reached the top, pulled himself up to his full height, she made no movement towards him.

"You're late,  _Rainier_."

She noticed him flinch slightly at that name in her mouth. She had to admit, it still felt strange. For a brief moment, she felt guilt for her tone, for not rushing to him, supporting him in this, his moment of vulnerability. Then she glanced at his wrists- no marks from his bonds. He must have been loose for hours, enjoying his freedom and making her wait.

"I didn't realise we had an appointment, My Lady."

Good. He was in a sparring mood. She didn't want melancholy tonight. "Take a seat. You look tired."

"Only if you'll sit with me."

His eyes were fixed on her, unblinking. He had that stupid smirk on his face, the one she was sure he thought was always hidden by his beard but shone defiantly through his eyes. She wasn't going to give up that soon. She held his gaze, breathing deeper and deeper. _I am the stone, Thom Ranier. Your blade cannot cut through the stone._

Reluctantly, he moved to sit on the long-seat by the stairs, eyes still fixed on hers. He threw himself down with a low, guttural noise that betrayed his relief, just for a moment. Then he steeled himself again, leaning forward, clapping his hands together. "Well? What now? I have to confess, this was not quite what I imagined I'd be coming up to."

"Six, maybe seven years ago," she began, holding her position as best she could, "Let's call it seven, shall we? Seven years ago, I took a job in Starkhaven with two young Carta recruits. They can't have been fifteen. Babes, the both of them. But that's what it's like in the Free Marches for dwarves. Running with Cadash? They couldn't have hoped for better. We pay well, and once you prove yourself, you're part of the family, and we’re a good family. We look after our own."

He started to say something, but didn't get the chance. "I wish I could tell you their names. It would make it so much more dramatic. Honestly though? I’m not even sure I bothered to ask. I can’t really remember the face of the first one. Turns out he’d given the location of our handover to the local guard for a reward. Five Sovereigns, I think. He was stupid. We pay that sort of gold within a year, if he’d had the patience. We killed the guard, and we killed him. The second one was too scared to even run. We took him back to his mother and I slit his throat in front of her. I've never heard a person make a noise like the cry she gave."

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Not long after that, Kirkwall burned under the Qunari. We looted the docks in the days after and sold people’s valuables back to them for twice, sometimes three times the price. I combed through fifty, maybe even a hundred dead people to fish out old heirlooms and shipping manifests, even proof of death in some cases. Being in the docks at that point in time would have been scandalous to some.”

“Stop it-”

“You know, there was actually a bust-up over one particular set of teeth. Teeth! They were solid gold in a skull that had burnt to a crisp. I found them first. Of course I did. I was with Giseld and Vendi, and they have brains like nugs. Giseld wanted them for herself though, wanted to use one to fit the gap where her man had knocked hers out a few weeks before. She beat me round the face with the jawbone, I hit her back, and it escalated.”

She found herself undoing the buttons on her shirt. This wasn’t the plan.  _Stop it Cadash. You’re not breathing_. You’re floating away into the sky. “You’ve seen the scar before, I think. If you were looking properly. I’m not sure you ever have though. You haven't really looked at me, right? Not closely."

She found herself kicking off her boots, tearing off her shirt, slipping down the trousers and stepping forward to kick free of them. She held her arms above her head, stretching slightly, twisting so he could see her side fully, bearing her vulnerable skin to him to show the long curving wound she carried. “I turned, she lunged. She’d have got my inners out if I hadn’t. But it’s impressive, no?”

Blackwall - _No. Thom. Get used to it, duster_ \- took in the scar slowly. Very slowly. Eyes tracing from just under her breast, down the side of her rib cage to its deepest point on her hip bone. She held the position as best she could, not wanting to seem like she was suddenly ashamed of her nakedness. Not wanting to look vulnerable, even as her breath started to halt. “Luckily, there was a healer in Kirkwall,” she found herself wittering, “Good one at that. Vendi carried me. Giseld would only carry that sodding jawbone.”

“Come here.”

It was almost one word, the way he said it. She scowled at him, staying fixed to the spot. She was not going to yield first…

But then he said it again. “Come  _here_ , Cadash.” A low rumble akin to his cries on the battlefield, and before she knew what she was doing her feet were taking her forward. Slow steps, measured steps, but with each one she could hear her heart angrily pounding in her head.  _You are stronger than this. You are stronger than this…_

His hand caught her wrist swiftly- she knew that if she’d truly cared, she could have deflected him with ease- and pulled her towards him. He wrapped a strong arm around her back and pulled him onto his lap, so close her breasts crushed against his chest. Her legs happened to part at just the right moment, splaying to either side of his body, though she had no idea how. His beard was soft against her lips, but the smell was unmistakable.

“You’re drunk.”

He didn’t respond, but sent his lips crashing into hers, kissing her with an urgency that she’d missed. His tongue was rough, but his lips were soft and wet and tasted of that spiced port wine that Cabot swore he saved just for her.

Catching her breath she pulled away slightly, though she noticed her free hand was stroking the side of his face with such tenderness. _You should be clawing at that face. You should be…_

Whatever she should be doing disappeared as he traced down the scar on her hip, down the curve of her behind and under. She found herself shifting her weight, allowing him to reach under her and stroke gently with a single, calloused finger, starting from behind and sweeping up to encircle that sweet spot in that way he did, that feathery light touch with the crackle of the broken skin. He leaned in to kiss her again, a gentler, sweeter kiss this time, his other hand gripping her back. Breaking the kiss, he nuzzled into her neck, the softness of his beard and the softness of his touch along her cunt making her softly sigh before she could stop herself. She hated that her body gave away so much. There was no way he hadn't noticed how wet she was. She should have kept her distance...

"My Lady... I didn't think I'd ever get to see you like this again."

She stiffened in his grasp, the words curdling her spirits. Like this? Like what? Naked? Compliant? His sweet little Lady Cadash, awaiting the return of the brave hero from his ordeals? No. No, he would not have that.

The hand that had been stroking his face so tenderly twisted itself in his hair, and she tugged on it so hard that all the breath dashed from his body. "You've never seen me like this, Rainier," she found herself growling at him, her golden eyes burning. "Because you have never seen me."

"My lady-"

"My name is Siba. I'm not your lady. I'm not yours. I'm my own person. You understand?"

She half expected him to push her away and storm out, or perhaps even to force back tears and retreat slowly to his barn as he was wont to do. What she didn't expect was the soft moan that escaped his lips, or the way he bucked into her, the hardness of his cock pressing into her thigh, and the breathy, almost choked out phrase...

"But I'm yours. You must know that."

Something burned deep inside her at those words. The feeling of his cock against her leg and the fire in her abdomen and those words, those simple, mesmerising words made her lean in to kiss him again, her tongue forcefully taking over his mouth, gaining another deep growl of approval. Her hand stayed buried in his hair, and she gave it another sharp tug for no better reason than the fact that she could. He didn't seem to mind at all.

Her free hand found its way downward, stroking through his breeches. He was agonisingly hard, and all restraint was leaving her. _We should talk more. There's more to be said..._  She was barely aware of her hand moving to unlace them, pulling out his cock from his smallclothes and stroking it against her belly. She pulled out from the kiss. The look in his eyes was wonderous, his normally piercing blue eyes suddenly seeming dark and endless and fixed on her lips.

"You reading my lips, Rainier?" she purred in a voice she wasn't entirely sure was hers as her hand gently rubbed him against her stomach.

"My lady-"

Her other hand gripped his hair and pulled again, eliciting a soft "Maker's balls" and an even softer trail of her name- "Siba, Siba, Siba..."

"You wanted me to come to you, Rainier?"

"Yes."

"And you still want me?"

The question hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity.  _You still want me. I still want you. I am a criminal and you are a criminal and we are no better than each other just say it just say-_

His eyes met hers, steel blue meeting deep copper. He moved against her hand and whispered against her lips. "Always, Cadash."

That was all she needed for now. She  shifted herself forward slightly, positioning herself over his shaft, and with more speed than she had intended, thrust down to take him in to her.

The slight hiss of him inhaling was just too delicious, so she kissed it from his lips as she came back up, her tongue licking his bottom lip before he was out of reach again and she had him to the hilt. She looked up at him, still for just a second, and he ran his hand over the scars that ran down the one side of her face, a look of tenderness lifting his eyes for that one moment.

It did not feel safe.

She pulled his hand down to her breast, smiling slightly as he rubbed his thumb over her nipple and returned to setting a steady, indulgent pace as she lifted her hips and rolled against his body. A slight shift, she realised, and she could rub herself against his belt... And it was a good idea indeed. She rocked against his body, making sure she ground herself against the sturdy buckle as he gripped on to her, one hand on her breast and the other running over the curve of her behind. Her head nestled against his broad shoulder. She couldn't help but enjoy the scent of the man, the smell of the woodchip and the whiskey and the smoke that caught in the wool of his fine jacket. It added to the sensuality of it all. She'd never taken in so much of someone she was fucking before.

"I'm looking forward to you carrying my scent, Rainier. I want to walk past you and smell me on you." It slipped out of her mouth without thought. A weak thing indeed. "You feel good inside me like this. So... Good..."

Ancestors preserve her, she was getting close already. Blackwall - _no, not ever he-_  ran his hands over her body greedily, pawing at her flesh as if he wanted to tear her to pieces. She was the one who kept the pace though, finding her speed becoming faster, more jagged. She needed more. She needed all of him. She could feel something growing inside her, even as the belt started to feel too rough against that sensitive nub and his hands seemed to grip her too hard.

"Will you come for me, Cadash?"

His voice, so level usually, was husky and cracking at the edges. She pulled back slightly to see his face, and ran her fingers across his wanting lips, marvelling at how he kissed and sucked on them as her pace grew, her want grew, and she breathed deeper and deeper and gripped onto his coat as she-

The feeling was blindingly strong, coursing through her nerves through every inch of her skin. She felt like she was floating up into the sky before two strong hands grasped her hips and pulled her back down as Thom kept her pace for her, sending wave upon wave across her body matched by the speed of his thrust. Then with a surge and with fingers gripping her hip to the point of bruising he spent himself inside her, gripping her down as if he wanted to fuse them to one another.

Eventually, the moment passed. The breath returned. And Siba felt so very cold.

She moved his hands from her and picked herself up off him, feeling herself flutter uncomfortably as he slipped from inside her.

"You'll not stay in my arms then?"

She couldn't answer. Couldn't even look back. Instead she walked to the bed, pulling off the fine Orzammar throw and wrapping it around her shivering body. She was of the stone. She should not have given in so easily.

Ranier stood, tucking himself back into his breeches easily, making her even more aware of her nakedness. "I see not. I can't pretend I'm not disappointed."

She looked up at him,  a million thoughts running through her mind to say but the one that came out was "But you're usually so good at pretending."

The flash of pain that shot through her eyes made her stomach tie up. The silence that followed... She knew she should apologise, that she should say something to break it, or just run into his arms and tell him it was all going to be fine, even if she didn't believe it... But instead she stood. Staring. Breathing.

"I had hoped I'd stay here tonight," he started again, his voice thick with emotions she couldn't quite identify. "I'd hope I'd be able to wake up with you in my arms and start the day with you at my side. I thought you might be able to..."

He stopped for a moment, looking away from her before his eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, they fixed on her once more. "I thought I could start my time as Thom Ranier with you there as I wake."

"No."

The word had left her lips before she had even thought. It wasn't that simple, that's what she should have said. I don't trust myself yet, I'm still hurt, I shouldn't have fucked you so soon, I need more time...

Anything would have been better than seeing the hurt flash across his face, or hearing his boots thump along the floor as he marched from the room, or feeling the coldness of the room without him there. In the emptiness, she sat down on the edge of the bed, a warm trickle down her leg the only thing marking that he had ever been there. She curled herself up in the fine dwarven bed, pulling the sheets around her as tightly as she could for warmth.

 

"Maybe tomorrow, Thom."


	3. Wine and Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marking this Dub!Con for drunken activity.

 

"These cookies taste like ass, Sera"

Siba wasn't sure how they'd done it, but somehow they'd managed to make something both rock hard and yet dusty in the mouth, something with simultaneously no taste in the first instance and a truly disgusting aftertaste. The chocolate pieces that Sera had insisted on adding liberally were hard, the bottoms burnt, and the dryness was causing her to drink her ale far faster than she had planned.

"Arse! Fuck. Yeah. Probably. Shame though, innit?”

“We tried, I suppose.”

“And failed. Yeugh.” Sera’s face bunched up into a snarl as she forced down another bite, and Siba felt a pang of something…

“Come on, I'm sure at least some of these are okay," she found herself saying. There was something about Sera being disappointed that made her stomach knot up, and she wasn’t in the mood for any more sadness today. She picked through the pile of crumbly, misshapen treats that they'd piled up into the sackcloth to bring up to the roof. "Look, this one doesn't look burned!"

She took a liberal bite, and to her dismay this one tasted even worse than the last, and stuck to the roof of her mouth like clay. "Yeah. These are disgusting."

"Still taste like arse, yeah? Whose though? Yours?"

"You saying I lick my own asshole, elf?"

"Ooh, flexible!"

She took another swig of her jar, not minding as a slither of ale crept down the side of her mouth. She’d play the game if it made Sera happy. "They taste like… Bull's, after a long day training."

Sera glanced over the courtyard, her eye drawn to Cullen with his troops. "Cully in the circle."

"Ooh, cruel. Too cruel.”

"Fine. Beardy then! And I bet you know that too, dirty duck."

She took another deep swig. It said something when Dwarven ale seemed sweeter than confectionery. "I think you have the wrong idea about us, Sera."

"Maybe you should give it a go. Might cheer him up some. He's been in a foul mood."

"What, since we busted him out of jail against his will? Since he was outed as a fraud? Can't imagine why."

“Should be bloody grateful.” She took another deep swig of her wine. “He’s free, he’s here, you’re both all right, big old happy times. What’s the problem?”

She wanted to tell her it wasn’t quite that simple, but the words stuck in her throat. Or was that a piece of nut? Either way, she washed it away with another generous swig of ale. Ranier had kept himself in the stables all day, and if she were to be honest with herself she was glad of it. Just thinking of the night before, and his face as he left… she could feel the blood rising in her cheeks in anger. Anger at herself. Not an unfamiliar state.

“Where did we go wrong?”

She was brought back from her own thoughts by Sera gazing at the cookie in her hand, rolling it around in her fingers. “We use all the stuff, put it in the hot bit, why didn’t it work?”

 

“It must be more difficult than we thought,” Siba replied, shifting a little closer. “Probably would have helped if we’d had the instructions.”

“Good stuff should be easy. The end. It shouldn’t be complicated.”

“Sometimes it is. It just is.”

They drank in silence for a while, watching the sun set over the battlements. Siba watched Sera’s face, looking inside herself for something to say. Many of the others didn’t see it, but deeper in Sera there was a stillness, a big gap that she tried to always keep full. A question that she never wanted to ask. By any means, Siba would try and keep her from having to.

“We’re gonna win, aren’t we?”

Sera’s question punched her in the gut. “Of course we are,” she replied with the broadest smile she could muster. “I’m our leader, remember?”

“A leader that can’t even bake.”

“Just because I didn’t learn to cook food doesn’t mean I don’t have skills, elf.”

“Drinking shite beer doesn’t count as a skill.”

“You’ve seen me in the field!”

“You’re right, I have seen you in the field. Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Rude. I’m improving!”

“Yeah right. I guess. For a stabby. I’d like to see you actually hit something not right in your face though...”

Siba grabbed the roundest cookie she could find, and (with a voice in the back of her head trying to stop her drunken body from continuing) she threw it with a clear straight pitch… straight at the Commander’s shiny lion helmet. It hit perfectly on the back, bouncing off with a strong crack rather than breaking. She cried out with glee, arms in the air as the sweetest sound in the world, the sound of Sera laughing so hard she splayed out over the roof unable to control herself, filled the air. She managed to stop laughing to start singing, of all things, a song she’d known since her youth.

_“You know you’ve met a Marcher_

_‘Cause we’ll always take our chance_

_We’ll pitch you with our witty tongue_

_Or spear you with a lance_

_We’re fierce as beasts the lot of us_

_Our bite’s worse than our bark_

_So watch your tongue you blighter_

_‘Cause we always hit our mark_

_Marchers!_

_March on!”_

At least a dozen voices seemed to join in from the tavern below, a few brave men from the Commanders troops, and she could have sworn a voice from over towards the stables… She wasn’t going to dwell on that. Noticing her drink was empty, she crawled back through the window, leaving Sera still pointing and laughing. She’d pay for that move tomorrow in the War Room, but for now all she cared about was that laugh, crackling through the courtyard. All was right in the world if Sera was smiling.

 

The stairs were a lot harder to navigate than she’d expected. Maybe she’d drunk more than she thought? Or maybe it was the lack of proper food. Either way, she found herself having to take extra care as she stepped down the wooden staircases and into the main room of the tavern… which was heaving with people tonight. The Chargers were in, and they were celebrating some anniversary that she was not a party to. They were seemingly celebrating in style, with most of the Inquisition joining them.

With only a few distractions she managed to get herself to the bar, only to find Cabot run off his feet at the other end. She’d not try pitching a cookie at him. He’d bar her til the end of days…

“Cabot,” she cried to him, getting his attention and a foul glance in the process. “You’ve been giving my wine away.”

“Only to the traitor,” he replied, continuing to fill the glass of a pretty elf girl with fluttering eyes. “And I figured you’d be sucking it out of his beard later on any how.”

“Have a care who you’re you’re talking to, barman.”

“I know exactly who you are, Salroka.”

He finally came over to her, grabbing a bottle from underneath the bar. “Here. Try this one.”

“What is it?”

“Good, that’s what it is. Do you want it or not?”

She extended her hand without a word, and a heavy brown bottle was placed in it. “Don’t drink it too fast,” he warned her, returning to the other end of the bar. “It’s stronger than it seems.”

She took a long swig, enjoying the sweet, thick liquid as it filled her mouth. It was deliciously smooth, and she found herself quickly gulping down another, linking her lips and smiling softly to herself. In moments like this, when the tavern was alive with song, when the night outside was mild and people were smiling and victorious, we almost felt glad for the stupid mark on her hand. At least it had brought her here, to this place, with these people.

She shut her eyes for a second, enjoying the slight spin in her head and the white noise of a million different conversations… until a huge hand whacked her back, almost sending her flying across the bar.

“Glad you could join us, boss!” came the booming voice of The Iron Bull as he leaned on the bar next to her. “It’s been a good night so far. Care to make it even better?”

She raised her bottle to him. “What are you celebrating?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s just say we’re toasting to victory.”

“To victory then!” She took another long, smooth slug of her wine, noting with some concern that a quarter of it seemed to have gone already. She looked up at Bull, and she knew that she must be smiling. How could she not be? Everything about him made her feel warm and at ease. Not something she ever thought she’d be saying about a Qunari over twice her size.

“I’m not sure I trust that look in your eyes, boss,” he purred at her in that rich, rolling voice of his. She realised her hand was on his arm, but she didn’t move it.

“I’m just wondering,” she replied, her voice sounding much deeper than she’d expected it would, “Why you’ve never asked me to your quarters, Bull.”

“Boss?”

“Well, you like redheads. My hair is red. I have an abundance of it.” She grinned at him. “It just seems like something we should try, no?”

His laughter echoed around the tavern. She tried to look offended, but the laugh was just too infectious. “Did I say something funny, Bull?”

“No! Yes. Look, Boss,” he settled on, wrapping a strong arm around her and pulling her closer. “If I were to tie your hands and hang you from a rope, leave you there ‘til your arms grew sore and you begged me to let you down, then stripped your clothes from your body and bit and scratched and spanked until you couldn’t take any more… what would you do?”

The image struck her vividly, but the answer was immediate. “My thighs would be around your neck in seconds. You wouldn’t have the chance.”

He roared again, holding her closer and giving her a light peck on the forehead for her answer. “You see boss? I don’t think I could give you what you want. I like to hit things. I like to take people and strip them of their power. Give them a space to be vulnerable. To step away from responsibility. But you?  You don’t need a break from being in control. You like it well enough.”

She kissed his big, strong arm before he pulled away from her, taking back a tankard as big as her head that Cabot must have filled whilst she wasn’t looking. Out of the corner of her eye, she swore she saw the traitor drinking, eyes down in his tankard all alone… she shook her head and turned away. Not tonight.

Another song stirred up from the bard, this time one she knew. She sang along, drinking and toasting her companions. Her friends.

 

\---

 

By the time she ventured back towards the main keep the sky was pitch black, the stars hidden behind cloud, and a bitter cold had descended. She took extra care whilst walking up the slippery stone steps to the keep’s main doors. She couldn’t help but laugh to herself- imagine if she fell? Imagine that. The Herald of Andraste, the woman who’d survived the Conclave, being buried in an avalanche, slipping and falling to her death because she was so drunk she could barely stand.

It took her a while to figure out how the latch on the main door worked, and even longer to find the right weight to push on it to open it. Finally, with one long heave and a stumble, she managed to get into the main hall, where she went straight for the throne.

She sunk into it, feeling the room spin slightly. Too much drink for certain, but it was too late to worry about that now. She settled down further into the heavy wooden Ferelden workmanship, enjoying the feeling of the furs beneath it as her mind caught up with her body. Soon it would be replaced with the giant maw of the dragon they had recently killed, but for now, the large wooden throne worked well. Simple, imposing, and unfussy. It suited her.

She thought to what Bull had told her. “You? You don’t need a break from being in control. You like it well enough.” Seems he was right. Sitting here on the throne in the emptiness of Skyhold at night, she felt powerful. Complete. After years of standing at the side of her mother’s Dwarven chair, watching smugglers and envoys and street rats come to pay tribute to Lady Cadash, she’d seen what power really meant, how it inspired people, gave focus. Now it was her turn. Now, finally, she would be in control not just of her own destiny, but of the fate of Thedas. Perhaps it was the drink talking, but to her that felt like a gift. Something she’d always been working towards. Something she could excel at. She’d not waste it by being cautious.

Suddenly she heard the main door open slightly. Gathering herself, she sat up straight, peering forward to see who was entering. Heavy boots on stone, the shape of the silhouette, and the deep, rough breath of the man gave it away.

“You’re far from the stables, Rainier,” she called, her voice steady as she could make it. “Lost your way?”

“I came to see you, Cadash,” he replied, taking slow steps towards her. “I had hoped...” His feet stopped as he seemed to waver slightly, taking a deep breath and wringing a gloved hand. “I thought to come see you. In your chambers. I didn’t like how we left things last night. I thought we might have more to say.”

She smiled slightly, shifting in her seat. She didn't know if it was the wine or the position, but she certainly felt the need to say a lot of things. "It was only a day ago you were in front of me like this.”

“I have not forgotten, My Lady.”

“Come now, Rainier. What have I told you about calling me that?”

“Siba, then. Cadash."

“Better." She stretched herself slightly,enjoying the scent of the leathers and the softness of the furs under her palm. She felt powerful, in control. This was how she should have been. "It was only a day ago, when you stood in front of me. And you behaved very badly indeed.”

She could see a flicker in his eyes. "Is this a game? I seem to recall you saying you were none too keen on games when it came to us."

She leant forward. "No games. An apology. You humiliated me in front of the Inquisition. On front of our guests. You had no right to kiss me like you did."

"Well then, you should not have kissed me back."

She couldn't help but smile at that. She liked him in this mood, bolder for drink and willing to spar. "Aren't you bold tonight, Captain?"

"Stop dancing, Cadash. You want something from me, fine. Tell me or... "

She let that sentence hang in the air, trailing into the silence. Or what? If he was set leaving, his feet didn't seem to agree.

"I want you to approach me how you should have. On your knees."

"You’ve got to be bloody joking."

She held his gaze, her heart racing in her chest. His defiance was all the more tempting. "You're right, that's foolish. Approach first. You can drop to your knees when you get here."

"Cadash-"

"Or you can leave. You're free to, after all."

Hey made a good show of his reluctance, standing cross-armed for a good minute whilst she held his gaze, not moving an inch, breathing deeply and holding her head high. Then, slowly, with a measured gait, he began to pace towards her, the slight echo of his footsteps reverberating around the empty Hall. When he arrived he sank to his knees in an instant, eyes still burning with a defiance she was sure would lead to nothing.

Slowly, with all the control she could muster, she raised her foot and placed it against his shoulder. He glanced at it, then back to her. She noticed the slight flicker in his breath.

"I remember you saying how honored you would be to kneel at my feet," she told him, grinding the ball of her boot against him slightly. “Now you’re here. Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

“Maker’s balls Siba, how drunk are you?”

She couldn’t help but laugh slightly at the accusation, and for a split second he smiled back at her and all of this, all of the hurt and wounded pride and pageantry seemed to slip away. He reached up and held on to her leg, stroking it gently, lovingly. They were just two drunk old fools together again, flirting together like teenagers without a care. She wished that the moment would stay, that it would suddenly be easy and free and made of something pure... but it melted along with their smiles as he looked up at her, that familiar sadness settling in.

“I am so sorry, Siba. You must know that.”

She found herself shaking her head, rubbing at her face. She couldn’t have this conversation right now. She couldn’t make out the words she needed to say to make him know that he didn’t need to be. That it wasn’t just him, it was her, it was an age-old wound he couldn’t understand, not yet. She didn’t know how to make it okay without lying. She barely had the words for it sober, and right now she could only concentrate on one thing. His hands were on her. Didn’t he know the effect that had?

“My boot, Rainier.” She pushed against him slightly, “You’re under my boot.”

“I can see that.”

“Do you want to take it off? You’re free to, you know.”

He seemed hesitant at first, his eyes full of doubt. But there was something behind it. Something wanting. So she gave him what she thought he wanted.

"Ranier. I want you to. Take it off."

The order seemed to give him permission to allow himself to act, and he pulled her boot off eagerly, kissing her toes, her foot and up her leg. She pulled the other off herself, throwing it to one side and shifting her hips so that he could pull her trousers away, leaving her naked from the waist down. She guided his head forward, but he did not need much encouragement to lean in to her, licking hungrily at her and pulling her hips towards him. It all happened so fast she could barely register the sensation at first, but then he moaned into her and the vibration seemed to go straight through her body.

“You wanted to do this at your trial, didn’t you Rainier?”

A whispered _yes, maker yes_ into her curls.

“You’d have liked that, wouldn’t you? Not enough to stake your claim on me with a kiss. Have to claim my cunt as well. Let them all know. You wanted them all to know.”

That earned her a delving of his tongue into her, followed by a succession of sweet, beautiful kisses up to her clit that almost had her moaning out loud… but she stopped her tongue on her teeth. She’d not give him the satisfaction of knowing the effect he was having. Not yet.

She wrapped her legs around her shoulders, bucking slightly against his face. “But you’re a fool if you think you can claim me. You’re mine, Ranier. You- ah!- you belong to me.”

He groaned into her and his hands dropped from her hips, pulling off his gloves, and for a moment she wasn’t sure what he was doing… then she heard him undoing his belt. With a swift manovre of her legs she unwrapped herself, pushing against his torso with her feet. “And who gave you permission to do that?”

“Andraste’s tits, woman!”

“You need to touch yourself that much?”

“You need to even ask? If you could only see yourself now…”

She grinned at him, wrapping her legs back around his shoulders gently and slowly unbuttoning her shirt. She watched him as his eyes wandered to her breasts, transfixed as she ran one hand over the curve before clawing gently at it. He exhaled heavily. She loved when he was like this, looking at her with that want in her eyes. He was the only man who had ever made her feel like she was something precious, something to be treasured.

“Do a good job, Rainier. Prove that you deserve it.”

He returned to her, reaching one hand up along her scar and to her breast, running a calloused hand over her nipple whilst his tongue returned to work. His other hand slid up her thigh, brushing slowly up, along the edge of her curls, and then gently with one finger entering her, curling inside her to match the soft sucks and licks. She thought of what Madame Vivienne might say, if she was stood up on her balcony… she closed her eyes and imagined the beautiful woman looking down on them, her eyebrow raised and her arms crossed indignantly and… by all the ancestors, that seemed to be working for her…

Thom pulled away, his thumb taking over the work from his tongue. “Eyes on me, Cadash,” he growled, “I’ll not have you thinking of someone else.”

That possessive tone and the look in his eyes as he sat there, between her legs... By the paragons, she'd never seen anything so utterly perfect.

“Get your mouth back on me,” she spat back, her legs pulling him in with a force she hadn’t intended, but she was close and it was necessary and-

It hit her so fast that she hadn’t a second to think about the noise. She cried out, slamming a fist against the hard wood of the throne and wrapping her thighs around him so tightly that her whole body lifted off the seat. Fuck it, the keep could hear. The whole of Skyhold could hear. He was forgiven and he loved her and he made her feel like a God. And kept on, the sod, forcing her through and leaving her a sorry, shaking mess.

But she had not forgotten.

“Eyes on me, Rainier.” she purred, pushing his head back gently and taking the moment to push a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. “I want to look in your eyes as you come over me.”

He didn’t miss a beat as he pulled his cock out of his breeches, and she spread her legs wide to give him a good view. It was fascinatingly filthy, seeing this man of honour on his knees before her, tugging at himself helplessly. Touching himself over a criminal on a tall chair that he had convinced himself was a Queen. She ran her hand around the edge of her nipple, eyes not leaving him as his gaze drifted south and the speed of his hand grew.

“Maker’s breath, what you do to me…”

“You’re doing it to yourself, I think…”

She ran her hands lower, spreading herself slightly. The noise he made was almost inhuman.

“Don’t you stop, Thom.”

He came with a choked back gasp, spilling himself all over the front of the throne and gripping on to her thigh for support. She leant forward, dizzy still from the drink, and without a word kissed him, her tongue savouring the taste of herself on him. She left a succession of small kisses on his lips, each one a promise of something yet to come. “I don’t think we’ll clean that up, do you?” she whispered against his face. “I’ll always think of you when I’m judging traitors. I wonder if any of them would have your talents...”

“Maker help me, you’re wicked.”

She pushed him away, grabbing her boots and trousers and heading to her door. She didn’t look over her shoulder, but simply called behind her…

“You may come up, but don’t think you’re sleeping in my bed tonight.”

She heard a deep laugh behind her as she opened the door, and boots behind her as she clumsily climbed the stairs.

This would be an even bigger mess come morning. In this moment, however, she couldn’t care less.

 


End file.
